


Streetlamps

by whodyathink (MacallanSpecter)



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Abstract, Angst, Emotions, Freeform, Jamie's wife (mentions), M/M, Not poetry, Peter Mannion face dartboard, Poetic, Swearing, caledonian mafia, deep, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:38:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacallanSpecter/pseuds/whodyathink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aged, bilious and bitter down yer throat. About right, then, eh?"</p><p>A pub, a pavement and a peck in Whitehall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Streetlamps

"Hoi, choirboy!"

 

"Aye, Malc, who d'ye want me tae spitroast tomorrow?"

 

Motherwell strangers exchanging darts on Mannion's pasty dinnae-know-what-a-fucking-pasty-is face.

 

"Eh, how's the wee bairn doin'?"

 

"Gab-"

 

"Ah meant yer wife; what's she still doin' with an old shitehouse like you?"

 

Bullseye. Bitter beer, bottoms up.

 

"Dinnae fuckin' start, Malc; I dun' even know why you hate her so fuckin' much! It's none of your fucking' horseshite-"

 

"It fucking well is if yer lookin' like a fucking cuntstain kiddie-fiddler to the fucking' Orwell press-"

 

Head shaken, disbelief. Head hung low, defeated.

Marching orders.

 

"Ach come on, Malcolm, ye know tha's not why-"

 

"Well then dinnae fucking _ask_...dinnae fucking ask, Jamie."

 

"He-"

 

"Just, shut yer fucking gob, a'right? We both know fuckin' why, and I'm fucking _sorry_ , jes...yeah, I'm-"

 

"Malc Tucker, Motherwell gobshite with balls of fuckin' bullets, saying fucking _sorry_ , that's fucking wrong, mate. Jes...never apologise ta me, yer jessie wanker, dinnae-"

 

" _I'll do what I fucking want, is that a'right with you, yer fucking Thatcherite cunt?_ "

 

Politics. Personal.

Hands up. Surrender.

 

"Heh...what, ye'll do _me_?"

 

" _Jamie-_ "

 

_I'm sorry._

_S'ok._

Streetlights.

 

"I'm no' saying _no_... yer daft fucking octogenarian-"

 

"Jamie MacDumbfuck and long words? Wash tha' mouth out with a bottle a' scotch, sonny boy!"

 

Heads, shoulders, knees and toes. Aligned.

Charcoal eyes, caerulean ones.

 

" _Or_ , I could snog you, yer know. Aged, bilious and bitter down yer throat. About right, then, eh?"

 

The shitehouse and the stickman.

The sun coming up in Whitehall.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic posted here, concrit welcome!  
> -xyz


End file.
